CURTAIN CALL: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series Book 1 (Standalone)

by Brianna Stark

I’m about to ask her how she is doing, but then she looks at me through her glasses like I am some kind of weirdo for just sitting next to her. I press a cup of the diluted lounge coffee to my lips and subtly look away.

  Then a couple of minutes later she actually starts talking to me. “I bet you think I got what I deserved, after what I did to you…” She lets out a heavy breath and I can tell this isn’t easy for her, but I’m still riding out the awkwardness.

  “I suppose we all do things that we regret.” I take another sip of coffee, hardly breathing but semi-satisfied, because even though it wasn’t exactly an apology, I know it’s the closest thing to one, coming from Daniela.

  “It will make you happy to know that Lexi’s been deceiving me for months. She’s had this whole solo show concept planned as a back-up to her role at Driven—smart, huh? And she’s been pretending her career is dried up while using my contacts to fund her breakout show. She’s signed with top solo choreographers. I am talking Ditsy Roberts and Don Burke, and her production already has dates at the American Dance Festival and Jacob’s Pillow.” Daniela huffs. “She never once told me about her elaborate plan. She made out like I was the lucky one.”

  That was a little bit enterprising of Lexi, I must say. A solo show is a big deal to keep from your best friend.

  “Forget about Driven, I should have done my own production a long time ago, because this is total bullshit.”

  I let her vent, even if I’m the most unlikely person in the world for her to be complaining to, but it’s hard to hold a grudge against someone who’s embarrassed themselves and fallen from grace in everyone’s eyes. Maybe that’s how people felt about me when I was humiliated, and maybe instead of running I should have looked for compassion around me. Daniela is in no mood for words of wisdom, however.

  Anyway, I suppose Daniela still has a shot at the lead, since her parents are forcing their dollars and influence down Kent’s throat to ensure it. But I also know Kent is doing everything he can to avoid being pulled by the strings like a puppet, including falling into a deep creative block and sabotaging the entire production if need be. I have faith he won’t let Charles or the Harringtons get away with murder.

  “Hey, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Daniela gives me her full attention, and although I am not sure I can go through with asking her, this might be my only chance. “Have you heard anything about Charles Anderson being inappropriate with dancers?” My face warms as I say it.

  “No, why do you ask?” Daniela crunches on a potato chip. I know her well enough to know she isn’t a very good liar, and she definitely isn’t lying now. It’s the answer I had been hoping for, and it’s about time the topic is forever changed.

  “My dad’s in town, can you believe it?” I shake my head, and Daniela blinks up at me. It appears she is more interested in this subject than the last one.

  “It’s about time. What—he finally caught on that you were making it big and wanted a part of the action? I always thought he was a prick,” she mutters. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

  “Maybe the same way you put up with your mom,” I say, biting the bullet, and Daniela gives me a knowing look, but at least she has a mom. And there’s a long quiet moment where I imagine we are both caught up in the past.

  “At least no one caught it on video.” We both know she is talking about her moment in the studio, and she looks slightly abashed about it considering what she did to me years ago. “I didn’t mean to rub it in, but social media is the worst.” She sucks in a deep breath.

  I couldn’t agree more. It only took me four years but I am finally over my social media humiliation, even if my problems haven’t gone away. “Sterling didn’t have that part planned out, I guess.” I try on a smile to make her feel better, because she does look a little pathetic. Then her eyes blink wide open, and I realize what I just said. Shit. Sterling is so going to kill me, even from across the Atlantic.

  She jumps up from her seat on the couch and whips off her glasses.

  “Sterrrrllling!” she hollers as she storms out of the dancers’ lounge, unaware he’s already left.

  It was an honest mistake.

  It must be nearing show time even though we don’t really have a piece yet—holy crap, I can’t believe it, and I cannot believe how calm I am, but the studio always becomes like a confessional right before the show. And there is one person who I just confessed the biggest deal of all to not long ago, and it’s time to find him.

  I knock on Kent’s office door, praying that Elle whatever-her-name-is has left the building. There’s no answer. I swallow and try one more time before pushing the door open.

  The office is empty, other than Elle’s coat hanging off a chair in the corner. Weird. I shut the door. Renee in reception is straightening the papers at her desk and collecting her things down the hall. A set of keys is jingling in her hand. She waves at me, and I wave back. The ‘viewing’ room is extra quiet. There are a few apprentices winding down their conversations and rolling out of a stretch. Daniela is gone, and the couch in the lounge is empty. Where is he? I check my texts. Nothing. What to do? If I go home I’ll just be obsessing while Liz and Marco make out in the next room. He’s practically moved in. The last place I stop is the wardrobe. When I am about to open the door I hear a man and a woman in a heated conversation.

  “You can’t come here anymore.” It’s a man’s voice.

  “I can do whatever I want. Don’t forget we had a deal,” the woman hisses, and the door swings open. Elle Vanderhyde straightens her skirt. She doesn’t say anything to me; she just looks at me, pushes out her chest, and storms right past me. I don’t have the guts to look inside and see who she has been talking to, because she is eyeing me as she waits for the elevator, and it strikes me that Elle might have more power around here than anyone has led on.

  Not without a hunk of flesh. Londyn’s words hit me. And since Elle is eyeing me, I pretend I am walking back to the last studio at the end of the hall past wardrobe, pointing my eyes on the ground.

  I open the studio door and force it shut, breathing fast after holding my breath for so long.

  I hear my name called and turn around. Kent looks up from the lyrical movements he’s been working on, and I immediately recognize those movements. I know those movements.

  If I hadn’t just told him how I felt about him and the ball wasn’t totally in his court, I would run up to him, wrap my legs around him, and smother him with kisses. Though he did just make a big gesture by putting my dad in his place and pushing the family dinner date.

  It wasn’t him in the wardrobe. My heart lurches, and I press my hand to my chest while catching my breath. He wasn’t with Elle. But someone was. I shake my head in relief, because the male voice was kind of muffled, and considering the topic of conversation and how quickly it all happened, I couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t him. Gosh, this company has issues. If only the tweeters and media could get the story straight. But there will be a right time and place soon enough. I hope.

  Kent walks toward me. He runs two fingers through my hair, and I look up at him waiting for him to kiss me. I so hope he’s going to kiss me. And he does—he closes his mouth over mine.

  We explore each other’s taste for a long time, and I can smell the light scent of his cologne. I wrap my legs around him, and he scoops my rear as his legs bend underneath him—a benefit of doing fancy choreography—and we are on the floor: groping.

  I can’t get enough of his mouth, and his mouth can’t get enough of me, and I don’t know when everything became so clear, even if I still have so many questions and confessions. But first I need to tell him the truth about my knees.

  “I’m sorry I left and didn’t meet your aunt. But there’s something I need to tell you.” My eyes well up and my heart does a drum roll. Then I remember the movement he was doing when I interrupted him. “Um, wait a minute, was that the movement from our solo, the one you said would never make it to production a
ges ago?”

  He smirks. “Maybe I was wrong after all.” His full lips curve up in a sexy way as I sit on top of him. I can’t help but love the way he is so aroused, and how arousing that is. I lick my lips.

  “How long have you been working on it?” I curl my fingers over the collar of his shirt.

  “Let’s just say I’ve been struck by inspiration.” He tilts his head, still smiling, and I can’t help but take those full pink lips with mine as he places his hands on my hips and adjusts underneath me.

  “And you’re waiting till the last minute to give us direction? That’s very bold of you.” My fingers caress his taut muscles through his shirt, which smells like his amazing cologne. “But…” I hesitate. “How will it look if I perform the solo, now that we’re together?”

  “Don’t worry. I have a plan. So what were you going to tell me?” He strokes my hair, and I bite my lip.

  I close my eyes and shake my head. All that matters is that we are going to rehearse together again.

  “Nothing.” I say, lowering my lips to his. The kiss is achy and warm and stirs all the way down to my roots. I barely have any knee pain, not when we are kissing. And there’s no way I am going to bring up my old injuries and ruin the moment, but shit, even lost inside his kiss I can’t run away from the truth much longer.

  But there is something I need to bring up. He brushes the loose hairs caressing my face and studies me as though he senses what I am thinking.

  “I’m sorry I left the other night. You were busy, I overheard some woman talking about you in the change room. I was feeling insecure, and I’m really worried about your reputation with all the…” I barely finish the words as his mouth crushes down on mine.

  “I told you, I have a plan,” he says between kisses, which are enough to satisfy me for now.

  My mumbles are lost in his mouth, and our fingers start taking bits and pieces of each other in. I become aroused by just how much he is aroused—how much we want each other—and by those little sounds. Oh, man, those little sounds. I reach for his top button, making sure the kiss never stops for more than a brief pause for air.

  “I’m falling in love with you too,” he says, and I know there will be lots of time to levitate to cloud nine, but right now I just need him badly.

  When Kent and I leave the studio, he’s bombarded by reporters, “Can you comment on your relationship? Have you had any other inappropriate relationships with the dancers? What do you have to say about the accusations by Drivenless? Do you know who is behind the tweets that garner all of this attention?”

  The reporters crowd around us, and while they question Kent, a few turn to me.

  “Do you want to comment on your director’s inappropriate behavior? Are you sleeping with him?”

  One reporter jumps in front of me, knocking me off my balance. My ankle rolls over my heel. Kent reaches for my hand, but it’s too late. The pavement is coming.

  The ground is coming.

  23

  Kent holds out his arm to keep the reporters at a distance before he steadies me off the ground, and I land on my two feet, but my worst knee buckles underneath me, and blood is smeared across it. Kent flashes me a dark look before he lifts me inside the building. The reporters finally back off as I hobble into his arms.

  He orders Renee to get some ice and a first aid kit, and she quickly runs downstairs as we sit down on a hard bench in the minimalist foyer.

  “You cut yourself.” He looks pretty concerned for a cut. That’s how sweet he is. When Renee returns, he jumps up and takes the first aid kit from her hands, ripping open an alcohol wipe and a Band-Aid.

  “You’d make a good nurse.” I try to smile, even though my knee is throbbing. Renee hands him a towel-wrapped pack of ice, and he places it on my knee. He doesn’t laugh. He cups my cheek with his palm, giving me his full attention before he stands up and pulls out his phone.

  “Are you okay?” Renee looks at me, and the look I give her back is probably not a very good one, so she blinks. “Hopefully it’s just a cut and a bit of a bang. You’ll be fine.”

  I nod. Sure, it was just a fall on the pavement and a scrape. There will be some bruising. But my knees were not only worn down in cartilage. The general trauma I suffered after working with Raina has not yet subsided, and my legs are not as strong as they should be, even if I do my physio exercises every day. My knee twisted on the way down, as well as my ankle, which I’m not nearly as worried about. I count the weeks and days left until the show. Only four weeks until the premiere. Kent only has about ten days to finalize his choreography before the lighting design will be set and we will prepare to go into the theater.

  “Have you seen the posters?” Renee pulls a tube from behind her minimalist steel desk. She places the tube on the flat surface, rolls it out with her small fingers, and holds it up for me.

  “Push The Limit.” I read the words out loud. Then I remember the photo-shoot that Cory and Daniela had after the last fundraiser—the shoot that Sterling and I weren’t included in. The photo of Cory and Daniela is combined with the photo of me that the Times published back when it called me the new face of Driven. Push The Limit. How suited. I will do my solo, the one Kent began some time ago, and Daniela and Cory will have their duet, which is perfect now that Sterling has moved on. I guess that’s how it goes in the creative process: somehow you manage to make everyone happy without intending to. Assuming, of course, that the Harringtons and Elle and whoever else made up the sponsorship behind the show get what they want. And my damn knee makes it through.

  It’s perfect. Renee curves her lips upward at the corners. “Now what are we going to do about all of this media attention?” She shakes her head with a mischievous smile. “Ticket sales are through the roof and Driven has never had such an online following. Kent is getting interview requests on a daily basis. Maybe people want to know the truth. Perhaps this whole scandal might come out as a good thing once everything is cleared up. God knows we could use some more attention paid to human rights in the world of the performing arts.”

  I nod, not fully following her. Did she not hear the accusations the reporters were making? Perhaps there’s more to the story—I haven’t exactly been in the loop. I suppose there’s one person who might know the full story: Drivenless. Maybe it is time I invited myself into this decade and the forbidden vortex called social media—I swore myself off of years ago—and took a look at the tweets, or rather retweets, now that Sterling isn’t here to report to me. How could he leave during all of this?

  Kent walks back into the foyer and tucks his phone into his pant pocket. He shakes his head in exasperation. He looks at Renee and turns to me. “Ready for dinner?” He rubs the back of his neck and exhales with a nervous smile. I am not sure if it’s about the things the reporters are saying, or if he’s nervous about having dinner with my father, which I think he might be. Reaching for his hand, I can’t help but find that super attractive.

  A driver picks us up and drops us off at the penthouse.

  “We have”—Kent rolls up his sleeve and looks at his watch—“twenty minutes, give or take.” He gives me a suggestive look. I so like where he is going with this. He lifts me in his arms through a revolving door and past a concierge, who looks at us funny.

  “She’s injured,” he says over his shoulder, and the concierge presses the button in the elevator, and I laugh and cover my face in embarrassment, while he asks for a driver out front in twenty minutes.

  I tell him I think I can walk with a little help, and he places me on my feet for a minute inside the elevator cart just so he can free up his hands. He tastes me with his mouth, and I taste him. Before you know it, we have arrived at the top floor, and he lifts me back into his arms. A little sound of surprise escapes my lips. Once we are inside, he takes us to the bedroom and places me carefully on the bed.

  “Ouch.” I flinch from his touch and grab my leg with both hands as though wounded. He freezes and flashes me a worried look, which is
priceless.

  “Kidding.” I shrug with a smile, and he shakes his head as his lips curve upward.

  “I’m getting you back for that.” His chin lowers, and his gaze fills with heat.

  Please do. I smile to myself.

  He rips off his shirt and pulls the black tank top I’m wearing over my head, and I reach for his belt. Our mouths find their way together. They are really good at that. And his fingers are really good at rolling my panties over my hips at the same time. And his body is really beautiful.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re very coordinated?” I catch my breath, while he crawls down my torso, and I watch him in anticipation.

  He places his lips on the inside of my knee beside my injury and asks me where it hurts as I suck in a quick breath of air.

  “Here?”

  He moves his kisses up the inside of my thigh and I shake my head no.

  “Here?” His eyes tilt up at me. “Or… here?” His lips find their way to the very top of the inside of my thigh, and I shake my head again. Not there either. “What about now?” He takes one last breath before his mouth covers my sex—god, yes—and my head falls back as his tongue makes slick strokes over me. I sink my fingers into his hair.

  The fact that he is probably the most amazing kisser to ever walk this planet—either that or our kisses are made for each other—is quite evident at the moment, and my hips rock toward his mouth as his agile body crawls between my legs. I wish my whole body could get lost inside of that mouth. I could crawl right in and be swallowed whole like Pinocchio.

  I slide my fingers out of his locks. When he has me arching my back, I dig my fingers into the pillow and pull it across my face to cover my screams. Then again, we aren’t in the studio and we don’t have neighbors—at least none above us or beside us. He slips two fingers inside of me and I let my vocal cords sing as my thighs shake, my eyes roll back, my neck bends, and my fingers dig. Oh, yes—yes, yes. My body is shaking, and those little sounds are not so little anymore, as our fingers find their way together.